Nor was she ashamed of her work; at least, she had never been so before.
Miss Byrd did not know why she hesitated and the fact that she did hesitate both angered and frightened her.
Ouro Preto did not realize the situation. His admiration for Miss Byrd had begun long before in Berlin and had steadily increased since the day he had come on board the Southern Cross and found her, and had grown intense as the voyage wore on. When the ship reached Barbadoes, at which island he had expected to transfer to his own yacht, which had come from Hamburg to meet him, he had been unable to tear himself away from the fascinating American and had decided to go on to New York on the Southern Cross and sail for Germany from there. Again and again he had striven to place his relations with her on a sentimental footing, but always she evaded him, and the closing days of the voyage found him uncertain as to her feelings and determined to bring matters to a climax. He never guessed that it was on just this that Miss Byrd was counting.
When he reached her chair, he stood over it until he forced her to raise her eyes. Then he bowed. “May I sit down?” he asked.
For a moment the girl did not answer. Then she put out her hand and pushed the chair near her an inch or two farther away. “The chair belongs to the ship and the deck belongs to whomever occupies it,” she replied coldly, though her heart was fluttering.
The smile faded from Ouro Preto’s face. “Oh! but why are you so cruel,” he cried, wildly. “What have I done to anger you? Is it that my love offends you?”
Miss Byrd gasped. “I am not offended at all,” she answered briskly, ignoring the suggestion in the young fellow’s last words. “I am merely tired—bored if you will—by the length of this never-ending voyage. I am a very bad-tempered young woman, senor; and if you knew me at all well you would realize how unpleasant I am likely to be when I am bored.” The girl spoke hurriedly, feeling for words which would not be too rude and which might yet stave off the proposal which she felt was imminent.
But Ouro Preto was not to be stopped. “I do not believe it, senorita,” he babbled. “No, I do not believe it. You are altogether sweet and lovely—fit for a duchess. And I can make you one, senorita. Great things are impending. A few weeks more and I will be a duke and—”
His words steadied the girl. “Stop!” she cried. “I will not listen. I am not the inexperienced girl you think me. I am—”
“You are the one woman for me. You do not love me, senorita. I know it. But I can teach you to love me if you will give me the chance. And I can give you much—much. I do not speak of money—no! no! do not think of it! Money is nothing! I can give you more than money. I can give you position, rank, fame.”